Picnic Where Love Burned in Silence

I baked the cookies myself.

Not because I wanted to.

But because I had to.

They were simple — dark chocolate chunk, slightly underbaked, the kind Serena used to steal from my lunch in high school. I remembered how she’d say, “You make the best ones, Ev. You’re like a sister to me,” while already reaching for a second.

Now, I placed the box on her desk with a smile.

“I made these,” I said. “Thought you might like them.”

She looked up, surprised.

Then beamed.

“Evelyn! You didn’t have to!”

“I wanted to,” I said. “You’re my sister from another mother, after all.”

The words tasted like ash.

But she swallowed them like honey.

She opened the box, inhaled. “Oh my God, they smell amazing.”

“I’m glad,” I said. “And… I was thinking — Julian had this idea for a picnic. By the lake. Just the three of us. I told him it was a beautiful idea… but I said, ‘Serena has to come. She’s my sister.’”

Her eyes lit up — not with joy.

With opportunity.

“A picnic? Just us?”

“Yes,” I said. “No staff. No meetings